


Relief (this world can offer me)

by sara_holmes



Series: One More Troubled Soul [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Avengers team - Freeform, Avengers with Bucky Cap, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes as Captain America, Bucky Barnes-centric, Bucky!Cap, Canon-Typical Violence, Depression, F/M, Happy Ending, Natasha Feels, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-14 00:44:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4543659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sara_holmes/pseuds/sara_holmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Bucky Barnes made a shitty speech when aliens were invading, saved the day, got the girl and ended up feeling like he was actually Captain America and not a two-dollar knock off.</p><p> </p><p>Part 1/3 of OMTS verse</p>
            </blockquote>





	Relief (this world can offer me)

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Утешение (этот мир может предложить мне)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9441335) by [faikit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/faikit/pseuds/faikit), [WTF_Avengers_2017](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WTF_Avengers_2017/pseuds/WTF_Avengers_2017)



> I am 112% in love with Bucky!Cap. It's official. 
> 
> This can be read as a stand-alone, but it is officially the prequel to Some Kind of Personal War, which is a Winter Soldier!Steve fic. Enjoy <3

Bucky slowly opens his eyes.

There is a moment of stillness. He stares at a clean white ceiling, and thinks of nothing.

And then.

It hits him with the force of a train. An overwhelming rush, a roar of sound and noise as he remembers. It’s like a stuttering movie-reel, the sheer volume of thoughts that crash over him in one go, countless images tumbling through his mind. The fight, the plane. The ice.

God, he should be _dead_.

Confused and out of sorts, thoughts not moving as easily as they should, he turns his head left and right, taking in his surroundings. The room is light; pale walls and sunlit windows, everything gentle and still. Belatedly, he looks down at himself and his heart lurches as he sees a white t-shirt, brown pants. An SSR logo.

Where the fuck is the suit?

He sits up, panic and anger rising inside his chest. He looks around but the suit is nowhere in sight, and he doesn’t know where he is or why he’s here, but the last thing he remembers is crashing that fucking plane whilst wearing Steve’s suit. That means someone must have undressed him to get him in this SRR get up and that means they’ve taken it-

He hears the footsteps outside the door and his head snaps around instinctively, body going tense. He’s off the bed before he knows it, backing up against the wall. His hands curl into fists, trembling with anger and adrenaline.

He holds his breath and the door opens. A woman steps in; curly blond hair and a warm smile. Her eyes find him and the smile deepens. It sets him on edge, and he doesn’t know why.

“Captain Barnes.”

“Who the fuck are you?” Bucky asks roughly, and his voice sounds strange to his own ears, somehow. “Where the fuck am I?”

“You’re safe,” she says, quiet and comforting, but Bucky is barely listening. Something isn’t right. Her whole get-up seems off, a few degrees bent out of shape. It’s her hair, the way her shirt hangs. He’s a sniper for chrissakes, half of his job was to notice things-

“Who the fuck are you?” he shouts, and he moves violently striding across the room and grabbing her by her upper arms, slamming her back against the wall. “Where the hell is my suit?!"

“Captain, stand down!”

There’s a hell of a lot of noise and then suddenly the room is full of soldiers wearing black outfits, guns in hand. They slide into the room with frightening efficiency, and within five seconds Bucky is surrounded. He whips around, pressing his back to the wall and holding the woman in front of him, her wrists held tightly in his grip.

“Let her go, Captain.”

The voice that calls out to him is low and calm, and Bucky turns to see a tall black man dressed in a long leather coat. He’s wearing an eyepatch and the one eye Bucky can see looks remarkably calm even though the room is about as tense as it could possibly get.

“Insurance,” Bucky replies, mouth moving quicker than his brain. “You pay out my suit and shield and you get her back.”

“Are you blackmailing me or negotiating with me, Captain?” the man asks, and if anything he sounds amused.

“Both,” Bucky replies, not missing a beat. His heart is thudding anxiously against his sternum, unhappy and not quite in the right place.

The man who keeps calling him Captain laughs. “Agents, stand down,” he says, and to Bucky’s shock the soldiers all step back, lowering their weapons. “You doing alright there, Agent Carter?"

“I’ve been better,” the woman replies, and her voice is relatively even though there’s still an obvious amount of tension in her frame. Bucky’s in over his head here. He doesn’t know where he is, where anyone is, and this man in front of him clearly has answers. He doesn’t seem like he’s going to hurt Bucky, but Bucky knows that first appearances can sometimes mean jack shit.  Steve had been proof of that, back before he got all juiced up-

_Steve._

The name snags like a broken record in Bucky’s heart, a loose stitch snarled with emotion. All of the fight goes out of him as his throat goes tight, grief invading every inch of his being, coursing through him like cold water.

He lets go of the woman, pushes her away. He can’t speak, can’t make a single sound.

“Clear out,” he hears the man say, and the agents obediently troop out. Bucky feels his chin tremble and he takes a step back. His heel hits the wall and he slides down, knees pulled up to chest and hair gripped in his hands. He doesn’t care how pathetic it looks because if he does anything else right now he’s going to burst into fucking tears.

The man doesn’t approach him, doesn’t break the silence straight away. He leans back against the opposite wall, arms folded over his chest, and waits for Bucky to get a hold of himself.

“So,” the man says, voice low and calm. “You want your shield and your suit?”

Bucky takes a deep breath. He feels exhausted, even though he only just woke up. “Who are you?”

“Nick Fury. Director of SHIELD. That’s the modern day SSR to you.”

Bucky looks up sharply. “Modern day- the fuck are you talking about.”

Nick Fury looks at him, impassive expression giving way to what could be a hint of pity. “You’ve been asleep. For seventy years, Captain.”

This time, Bucky just stares. “You fucking just said what?”

Fury breathes out deeply, and then he slowly sits down against the opposite wall, one knee bent so he can rest his arm on it. “You crashed that plane in the arctic intending to check out, I would imagine,” he says, and it gives Bucky chills because he doesn’t know how deliberate the use of the word _intending_ is.  “Though luckily for us, you are a super soldier. Which apparently means you do not just die from crashing a plane in the arctic. You were frozen. Your super serum kept you going. We found you, and now here we are.”

It’s like white noise, the buzz of static, the hiss of a lonely radio. Bucky can’t process what he’s hearing, what he’s being told, because he can’t be seventy years ahead, he can’t be. That means - the Commandos, Peggy, the war - what has happened? Oh god, Steve has been left behind for seventy years and it fills him with irrational panic because who has remembered Steve-

“Captain? You with me?”

The voice jerks Bucky back into the present. He exhales shakily, feeling as close to dizzy as he ever gets these days. “Not sure.”

“How about I take you for a coffee,” Fury offers. “Show you the new world.”

“Still the same world,” Bucky says tiredly, and he pushes himself to his feet. “I ain’t got anything better to do.”

“Not yet,” Fury says, climbing to his feet as well. “This way, Captain.”

Bucky obliges and follows Fury out of the room. Beyond is a strange, empty, sterile space with dully shining floors and white walls. It’s horribly clinical and reminds Bucky of that medical facility he was shoved through when Philips discovered that he had super-strength like Steve-

And then Fury holds the door open for him and his memories grind to a halt.

Oh, fucking hell.

It’s New York but it’s not. And it’s nothing like what Howard Stark showed them at the Future Expo. It’s just loud and noisy and busy, cars of the wrong shape and all colors are everywhere and everything’s too flashy and bright. The people as well; the hair, the clothes they’re wearing – or not wearing, Bucky thinks weakly as a woman walks by in the shortest shorts he’s ever seen.

Fury leads the way down the block and hustles him into a building called _Starbucks_ , all green banners and strange logos. It’s just as strange as outside, too busy with machines and screens everywhere, but the smell he recognizes, at least. Fury abandons him at a table by the window and he slouches down in the seat, staring at the world beyond and trying to grasp that this is all real.

He’s in the fucking future. It’s too loud and too bright and there are no flying cars. He fucking hates it.

Fury returns in short order with two drinks in cups that feel nowhere near as flimsy as the old disposable ones he’s used to, but he still takes a care not to buckle it under his grip. He pulls it across the table towards him, glancing up and around at the other patrons and feeling utterly lost and very, very alone.

“So, here we are,” Fury says, leaning back in the strangely curved, low-backed chair and sipping at his own drink. “I don’t think I actually said welcome back to you yet.”

“This is all real, isn’t it,” Bucky says, staring at the cup in front of him. “Not gonna wake up on a Hydra bench or in medical in Switzerland somewhere?”

“This is very real,” Fury says. “As real as anything’s gonna get, I’m afraid. And you are going to have to deal with that.”

“Not entirely sure I want to,” Bucky replies without thinking. He rests his elbow on the edge of the table, covers his eyes with the palm of his hand. “Seventy goddamn years.”

When Fury speaks again, his voice is quiet and almost sympathetic. “I am truly sorry, Cap. I know you’ve been to hell and back in what seems like a very short space of time. I know you lost a good friend. And I know that meant you had to step up.”

Bucky goes very still. He lowers his hand from his face, looks at Fury. He’s calm and quiet, but his expression isn’t giving much away.

“You know.”

Fury inclines his head, a single affirmative dip of his chin. “I know. No-one else does.”

“’Cept me,” Bucky says and Fury nods again. Suddenly the change in location makes more sense; he’d bet his bottom dollar that room he woke up in was being monitored, and now Fury has brought him somewhere where he can talk about Steve, the terrible secret that has somehow lasted seventy years. .

“Except you.”

Bucky’s mouth twists and he shrugs, and he’s trying to be indifferent and casual but he’s not far from breaking down in the middle of this fucking stupid future-day coffee place. He doesn’t, though. There’s a reason he was part of the Howling Commandos, reasons he was a good soldier. He’s nothing but brave, and knows when to stow his own bullshit to get stuff done.

 _Well, he used to be able to,_ he thinks humorlessly. This time there’s a _lot_ of shit to be stowed.

He finally takes a sip of his coffee and promptly chokes, clapping his hand over his mouth. He swallows, though it utterly disgusts him to do so. “What the hell is this?”

“Real twenty-first century coffee,” Fury says. “No more of your wartime rationed shit here, Barnes.”

“Fuck you,” Bucky says. “Find me real coffee. This tastes like a goddamn watered down candy bar.”

 _Steve would probably hate this shit too_ , he thinks and the bottom promptly drops out of his stomach. Sitting there, he feels the dark waves return and threaten to overwhelm and drag him under. It’s grief, he knows it is, but it’s seventy years too late. Steve has been gone for seventy years and Bucky feels so guilty that he’s not been here to remember him, but that makes no sense-

“Captain?”

“Get me the hell out of here,” he says roughly to Fury, because he’s _done_. He’s done with the awful coffee and the useless platitudes and all the noise. He’s done with the people and the strange not-quite-rightness that permeates everything. He’s done with the fucking future.  

Fury just nods, not questioning Bucky’s abrupt shift in mood. “We have an apartment for you. This way, Cap.”

Abandoning the coffee, they leave the shop. Right outside is a huge black car that’s ready and waiting. Fury pulls open the back passenger door and indicates for Bucky to get in; he does without argument, feeling swept along in the tide and too exhausted to resist. He has no idea what has happened to the world in the last seventy years, and he’s not sure he wants to know-

“Is the war over?” he asks dully as Fury climbs into the front passenger seat. The driver is an unknown black man who doesn’t so much as look at Bucky as he slumps down against the door.

“That war is,” Fury says.

“That one,” Bucky says, and he closes his eyes. “I’m hearing but not the other one, right?”

“We’ve had our fair share since you went down,” Fury says. “And I think we’ll be in for a few more before we get to world peace.”

Bucky feels a lump in his throat and he swallows hard against it. The car rumbles to life beneath him, and for a fleeting moment he thinks of jeeps and jets and the roar of engines-

“-get you home, Cap,” Fury’s voice breaks through his thoughts, and the edges of memory fade away into the shadows in the corners of his mind.

“Yeah,” Bucky says with a lost and bitter laugh, and his chest is too tight. “Home. Wherever the hell that is.”

 

* * *

 

His home turns out to be an apartment in Manhattan. Well, they say it’s Manhattan but the skyline is all wrong and bent out of shape. New buildings jostle each other impetuously for bragging rights, all trying to be bigger, brighter, better. The worst one is the damn Stark Tower; it’s like a freaking Christmas tree with how bright it is. It’s not that which has Bucky feeling all put out though; it’s seeing the same _Stark_ plastered over the side of the building like yet another reminder of everything he’s lost. He asks someone about it one time; apparently it’s the pinnacle of new design, completely self-powered and self-sustaining. Frankly, it sounds like a disaster waiting to happen; a bomb disguised as a building smack bang in the middle of New York.

At least he can’t see the damn name on the building from his apartment. Expensive, secluded, behind several layers of security only afforded to the rich. It’s all electronics and key cards, not the doormen that Bucky used to see, and he feels like an interloper in the place. He’s a smart-ass punk from Brooklyn, he doesn’t belong here in this swanky part of town.

The apartment has a large separate bedroom with a fully socked en-suite bathroom. The bed is the softest damn thing Bucky has ever laid on and he hates that too. The last bed he had was a fold-up army cot, a far cry from this luxurious expanse of Egyptian cotton and down-filled pillows. The rest of the place is a combined kitchen and living area with a long counter separating the two areas; the kitchen is also fully stocked with food and drinks, only half of which Bucky recognizes.

He’s grateful for it though. A space to call his own for now, a space to retreat to and get his bearings.

It’s almost midnight, several long, exhausting and empty days since he moved in, and Bucky sits alone on the couch in the middle of the apartment. Thin slats of light from the streetlights outside stretch across the bare floorboards, reaching up the plain walls.

On the coffee table there are two large cases. Heavy duty plastic of some sort. The lids are flipped back, carelessly knocked to the floor, and from within both Bucky can see red and blue and white.

He can’t bring himself to lift either shield or suit out of their cases. He just sits there in the darkened room, eyes fixed on the dull white star of the suit. Of Steve’s suit.

The suit and shield are literally the only things he has left. None of his immediate family are still alive. Sons and daughters of cousins somewhere out in Pennsylvania, but they might as well be another galaxy away. The rest of the Howling Commandos are long gone. Most of them killed in wars that Bucky slept through. Peggy Carter is somehow still alive, in a retirement home somewhere in England. He’s not had the guts to call her; if she mentions Steve then Bucky thinks he’ll lose it completely.

He aches, all over. His body and his heart and everything just hurts. He wants to go home.

But he can’t. He sits there with his head in hands, alone in his too-big apartment, seventy years away from what he would actually call home,  and he finally lets himself cry.

 

* * *

 

 

The days pass. Bucky sleeps and eats and reads files that have been left for him, drifting along without any real sense of purpose. On the sixth day he ventures outside and drifts through the city. He rides the subway, sits in cafes and watches the world pass with wary eyes. Finds a secluded corner in a library, flicks through history books aimed at children and feels overwhelmed with how much has changed.

He accepts the technology. Doesn’t understand it all, but accepts it. After all, he’d been the cutting edge of science back in the day, and the SSR certainly were ahead of the curve. It’s other things that throw him off, though. People paying for their shit on cards. Credit cards, he later learns, which in principle just sound like a terrible idea to him. Clothes that don’t need to be pressed and starched and hung. He can throw his goddamn tee on the floor and pick it up the next day, and it’s none the worse. And he is utterly baffled by the first can of coke he’s presented with. The checkout girl looks at him strangely as he balks at the weird pin and tab, gingerly opening it like it’s a grenade about to go off.  

On his wanderings he finds a bar in Brooklyn that never used to be a bar, but it’s dimly lit and quiet and he finds himself heading in and ordering a beer. He sits at the back, and no-one bothers him. The next night he retraces his footsteps and does the same, and it soon starts to become a regular haunt.

On the fifth evening, he’s on his ninth beer, slouched in a booth in the back of the bar, when he’s joined by Nick Fury. In all honestly, he’s the last person Bucky wants to see, though he is also the only person in this century that he actually knows.

“Trouble sleeping?” Nick says, looking up around the bar. It’s empty save for a couple of guys sitting at a table at the other end, rowdily arguing about whatever sport is playing on the huge screen behind the bar.

Bucky would probably like the future if he didn’t hate it so much.

“What do you want?” Bucky replies as Fury settles in. He’s wearing the same all black ensemble as before, this time with a short leather jacket over the top.

“This your idea of celebrating?” Fury asks, gesturing around the bar and ignoring the question.

“What do you want?” Bucky asks again, voice flat. “Are you here with a mission, or are you here to help me celebrate?”

“A mission,” Fury says. “I need you to get back in uniform, Cap.”

Bucky stills, going tense all over. “Why, the world need someone to dance around in tights again?”

Even the joke stings. He was never the one who wore the ridiculous USO get up.

“The world needs someone to save it again,” Fury says. He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a file, and holds it out to Bucky. Suspicious, Bucky frowns for a moment and then puts his beer down, taking the file. He drops it to the sticky table and flips it open, and then his heart about stops.

“Hydra’s secret weapon,” he mutters, eyes fixed on the glowing blue cube, the word _tesseract_ stamped across the top in stark black letters.

“Howard Stark fished that out of the ocean when he was looking for you,” Fury says, and Bucky tears his eyes away from the picture, momentarily thrown.

“He looked for me? He was best pals with Steve, not me.”

“Point aside, he found this,” Fury says. “He thought what we thought. That we could use the cube for unlimited energy.”

Bucky’s eyes scan over the file, quickly putting the pieces together. “Okay,” he says slowly. “I’m assuming that this has something to do with that thing you just said about saving the world?”

“It’s been taken,” Fury says. “We need to get it back.”

Bucky about chokes. “You let someone take it?” he says, astounded. “Are you fucking kidding me? We lose Steve-” he stops, quickly looking around to check he’s not been overheard. He continues, voice a low, angry hiss. “We lose Steve fighting over this thing and you let someone _take it?”_

“Let them? I lost hundreds of men and one of my best agents in the course of it being taken, so no. I did not let them take it,” Fury says. “I’m assembling a response team to get it back, and you’re part of it.”

Bucky’s temper flares at the assumption in Fury’s voice, the expectation that he’ll just pick up and carry on.

“I don’t want to be part of your fucking superhero barbershop quartet, or whatever the hell it is you’re making,” Bucky snaps.

Fury stares at him, and then one corner of his mouth hitches up in a smile. It’s terrifying. “Oh, there is someone you absolutely have to meet,” he says, smile widening into a shark-like grin.

“I don’t want to meet anyone,” Bucky says. “I’ve been in the future for two weeks and everyone I’ve met is either a spy or an asshole.”

“You’ll fit right in then,” Fury says, face already schooled back into neutrality. “Look. The world is in danger. And not just a few people are going to be mildly put-out danger. The real, we need someone to save the entire planet, danger. Seven billion people, Cap.”

“Don’t call me that,” Bucky shakes his head as if he can bat away the words like insects.

“I have a team,” Fury says. “It needs a leader. You are it.”

“I am not.”

Fury leans back. “So after everything Rogers did to save your ass, you’re just gonna let it all slide away.”

Bucky feels rage fill his chest, frightening quickly. “Don’t talk about him,” he says, dangerous. His hands clench and he lets go of his beer before the bottle shatters. “Don’t you dare-”

“Well if I’m not allowed to talk about him, and you’re going to pretend he never existed-” Fury says, overly nonchalant. Bucky could leap across the table and strangle him.

“Shut up.”

“You are the only person on my radar who has a hope in hell of filling those shoes,” Fury says.

Bucky stares at him. “On your radar?”

“If you won’t do it, I may have to start looking _off_ radar.”

“No,” Bucky says without thinking. “You-”

He stops, swallows. He’s confused and disorientated, slightly tipsy and not altogether sure what to do. He’s not cut out for dealing with spies. He needs Steve.

“I what?” Fury asks. “I can’t find someone else to do the job you’re saying you won’t?”

 _No you can't,_ Bucky wants to say, but it’s not his place to say that. Captain America is more than him, more than a single person. If SHIELD and the world need Captain America, of course they’re going to find someone to be it 

A strange sense of panic is rising in his gut now. Steve needs to be - Steve is Captain America, goddamn it, but Steve is dead and Bucky is supposed to be carrying on for him, just like Peggy said to him that night in that shitty bombed out bar in England-

“If I do it-” Bucky says.

“When you do it,” Fury says easily, like he knew that was going to be the answer all along.

“Don’t make me punch you in the face,” Bucky says, anger flaring up again at the smug assumption. He’s not said yes yet and he’s not convinced he will, so Fury can just wipe that look off his face. Fury just snorts with laughter, reaching to pull out one of the impossibly small cell-phone things out of his pocket and sliding it across the table.

“You might want to tone down the attitude,” he says, fingers drumming atop the blank screen. “I’m not sure that the world is quite ready for a Captain America as charismatic as you.”

“The world can suck it,” Bucky says and he nods towards the phone. “What’s that for?”

“SHIELD line,” Fury says after a pause. “For you. You call, you text-" 

“You do realize that I was in nineteen forty a fortnight ago.”

“I have full faith in your abilities to work it out,” Fury says. “Think of it as a fancy radio.”

“A fancy radio,” Bucky mutters, rubbing his forehead. “Okay. A fancy radio with who on the other end?”

“This one will connect you to me, to Agent Coulson or Agent Romanov.”

“Who and who?”

“There’s a full debriefing package at your apartment,” Fury says. “It’s in there. The important thing is that you can trust them." 

“I haven’t even said yes, and you’re hooking me up with debriefing packages and cell phone links to your best agents?”

Fury ignores him. “Speaking of my best agents,” he says. “They are the very best. Some of the highest leveled agents I have. But they don’t have clearance to know about Rogers.”

Bucky goes very still. “What?”

“The world needs Captain America right now. And that’s it. Not a drama over the face beneath the mask.”

Bucky’s stomach sinks. It’s like nineteen forty-four all over again, with Peggy and Phillips explaining to him why they can’t let the world know what happened to Steve. How much damage it would do if the rest of the world knew that Captain America was gone, was just as mortal as the rest of them-

Blinking hard, he stares at his bottle, the lights of the bar glinting off of the glass. “I’m nothing like Steve,” he says. “Someone would notice.”

“We have been lucky on that front,” Fury says. “There are no records of the switch at all, no-one knows but me and you. The only people that could connect Steve’s face to being Captain America are either long gone or in no position to say anything. You managed it in forty-four-”

“Yeah, for like a week,” Bucky says desperately. “He had comics. Cards. The movies-”

“All wearing the full outfit with the cowl,” Fury says. “We did find a few unofficial bits of footage with the two of you, but they’ve been destroyed.”

An empty chill settles in the bottom of Bucky’s stomach. “Destroyed?”

“SHIELD are very thorough,” Fury says. “Besides, most of the evidence that Steve Rogers was ever Captain America was swept up by the SSR when they shoved you in the uniform anyway.”

If Bucky were going to cry, that would be the moment. He tips his head back, draws in a shaky breath and fights it back.

“They’re planning an exhibit on you, you know. How you went through rebirth, growing up in Brooklyn as a sickly orphan.”

“That wasn't me-”

“It is now,” Fury says seriously. “You take over for him, you take over everything.”

And Bucky wants to throw his damn drink in Fury’s face because he’s fucking sitting there and writing Steve out of history. His best friend, scrubbed out like a stain, like something inconvenient-

“I’m not doing it.”

Fury leans forwards on his elbows. “We need you to.

Bucky feels his chin tremble, locks his jaw against it. He screws up his face and then huffs out a laugh, wishing that he could go back and crash that damn plane properly, so he wouldn't have to be here doing this

He needs Steve.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and the words are bitter on his tongue. “I’m not the guy you’re lookin’ for.”

Fury stares at him for one long moment, and then he sits back with a heavy, disappointed exhale.

“No,” he says, tapping his fingers against the table with a note of finality. “I guess you’re not.”

Without another word, he gets up and leaves. Bucky doesn’t watch him go. He just sits and stares at the cellphone that’s been left atop the table, and then silently waves his hand for another drink.

 

* * *

 

The moment he arrives home, he knows someone is in his apartment. The part of him that is immediately on guard and wanting to spring into action is half-smothered by the weary part of him that really doesn’t give a shit. If it’s someone sent by Fury, he doesn’t think they’ll be out to hurt him. If it’s a bad guy or someone who knows he’s Captain America- 

Fuck. The shield. The suit. Both still in their cases on the coffee table.

Cursing himself internally, Bucky just drops his keys into the bowl on the side-table that stands in the hallway. “Can I help you?” he calls, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it up. “Do I need to get ready for a fight? Because I’ve had a hell of a day and I’m really not in the mood.”

There’s a low, musical laugh. Frowning, Bucky walks forwards into the lounge space, and then promptly stops dead because the woman standing by his coffee table and examining the shield is the most gorgeous woman Bucky has ever laid eyes on.

“No fighting today,” she says and stands up, almost smiling at him. Her hair is red and in loose curls around her face, eyes deep and green. She’s wearing dark pants and a simple black top, which clearly show she has a figure to die for. The ways she’s looking at him makes him feel like she knows everything, can see him inside and out. “I’ve come on behalf of SHIELD.”

Bucky blinks and pulls himself together. “Then you can show yourself out,” he says, bitterly thinking of the days where he’d see a pretty dame and be able to just try his luck, turn on the charm. He’s guessing that’s not an option here.

“I will, after we’ve talked,” she says. She looks down at the coffee table and she nods towards the shield.

“They tell me this was in your hand when they found you.”

Bucky feels his hackles rising. “So fucking what?”

She just shrugs. “It’s important to you.”

“I’m Captain America, sweetheart. The shield is kind of part of the package.”

The words hang there in the air between them. She seems unconcerned – if slightly amused – by his outburst. For his part, Bucky’s heart is thudding sickly in the base of his throat and he can’t believe what he just said. He’s just spent god-knows how long convincing Fury and himself that he’s not Cap. And then the moment he opens his fat mouth-

“A word of advice; it doesn’t end well for most people when they call me sweetheart,” she says easily, and she steps around the coffee table and sits down on the couch.

“Why?” Bucky asks, folding his arms across his chest. “You got a weapon hidden in that getup somewhere?”

“I don’t need a weapon to hurt you for being a patronizing, sexist ass,” she says with an arch of a brow.

“I don’t need a weapon to hurt you for breaking into my apartment,” Bucky retorts. “If you’re here to try and persuade me to go along with SHIELD’s plan, you’re not doing so swell.”

“I think I’m doing fine,” she replies calmly. “You know what I’m about, I know what you’re about. No-one’s going to get surprised later down the line.”

Bucky narrows his eyes at her. “Why do I feel that that’s not true? Oh, right. Because you’re a _spy._ ”

She nods. “Natasha Romanov,” she says, and she looks away from Bucky towards the shield on the table, and then leans over and clicks on a lamp on a small side table. It casts a warm yellow glow over the proceedings, chasing away the cold dimness of before. Dammit, it only makes her look more beautiful.

“And you work for SHIELD,” Bucky says.

“I do,” she says. “And we need you, Cap.”

Ernest green eyes turn back and meet his, and he feels the bottom drop out of his stomach. _Get a grip, Barnes,_ he tells himself roughly. _She’s a spy. Starting thinking with your brain and not your dick._

“This is kind of predictable,” he says. “I say no; Fury sends a pretty face to try and change my mind.”

Her gaze doesn’t waver. “You think I’m pretty?”

Bucky makes an irritated noise, pinches the bridge of his nose and moves to perch on the arm of the couch, feet sinking into the too-soft cushions. “That’s beside the point,” he says. “The point is I know what you’re trying to do-”

“I’m not here to bat my eyelashes at you,” Natasha says. “That’s just unfortunate on your part if you’re too distracted staring at me to listen.”

Bucky feels a dull flush rising on his neck. He still thinks he’s right, that she’s there as eye-candy to try and weaken his resolve, but she seems deadly serious and he’s starting to maybe consider the fact he’s being seriously played here.

“I’m here because I’m the best SHIELD have,” Natasha says, and on that count he does actually believe her. “And I will be working with the team that Fury has assembled. I’m used to working alone, to making my own calls, and I still believe this is the right thing to do.”

“It’s not about that,” Bucky says, and he’s no longer irritated. Just…sad, maybe. “I just can’t. It’s seventy years too late.”

She studies his face for a long moment, and then she nods, accepting. “A pity,” she says, and she reaches out to touch the star that sits on the center of the uniform’s chest. “You would have looked good in this.” She climbs to her feet and offers him a small, quiet smile. “Think about it,” she says. “I know Fury is threatening to hand over to someone else, but he won’t. He wants you.”

Bucky blinks at her, slightly taken aback. “Thanks? I think?”

“You’re welcome,” she says, and as she edges out from behind the coffee table she ends up stood right next to him, her thigh almost brushing his knee. When she speaks again her voice is soft and low and it goes straight to Bucky’s gut.  “What do I call you, anyway?”

“Bucky,” he says without thinking, tongue-tied and confused and out-manoeuvred. God, she’s beautiful.  “Well. My name is James. But. People call me Bucky.”

“Hope to see you soon, Bucky,” Natasha says quietly, and then she’s gone, soundlessly letting herself out of the apartment.

 

* * *

 

The cell phone stares at Bucky from its place on the counter, impatient. Hands braced on the edge of the polished marble, he stares back. They’ve been at an impasse for several hours now; the phone has been picked up, turned over, put down more times than he can remember. It’s just one call. He knows what he’s got to do, and if he does it he’ll be able to get some goddamn advice, someone to help instead of having his own thoughts chase each other dizzy. 

“Fuck it,” he finally says, and grabs it and hits the number one and then the green button, as per the instructions that appeared in a tiny written message when he'd first opened the phone.

“Please not her, please not her,” he mutters as the phone rings, and holds his breath as it registers with a click-

“Agent Coulson here,” a decidedly male voice answers. “How may I help you, Captain?”

Bucky sags with relief. Not that he’s scared of Natasha Romanov, but she’s unsettled him in ways he really doesn’t want to think about right now. He’s got shit to do. “I want a return flight to England,” he says boldly. “South. As soon as possible. 

“May I ask why?” Coulson asks.

Bucky’s eyes slide to the stack of files on the corner of the counter. “I want to see an old friend.”

There’s a pause. Bucky can’t hear anything on the other end of the line. And then, “Okay, I can sort that for you, Captain. A car will be sent to pick you up in an hour.”

“Thanks,” Bucky says, and hangs up without another word. He tosses the phone aside, breathing out heavily. His stomach is twisted up in a knot somewhere where it’s not supposed to be, but he feels better for having made the call. Lighter. Maybe because he’s actually getting his ass into gear and making a choice to do something. Maybe because he’s going to see the one person he still has left, who has a hope of understanding.

  

* * *

 

 

“I thought we weren’t supposed to talk about him, James. Orders from on high.”

Peggy Carter still has the same mischievous warm glint in her eye that she had seventy years ago. Even though she’s now in her nineties, looking old and frail in body, there’s no questioning her spirit. She’s still Peggy Carter through and through. The nurses say she’s doing great. Gets forgetful when she’s tired, the first hints of weakened memory starting to creep in. Though today’s a good day, they tell him. She’s as bright as ever. She looks positively regal, sitting up straight in a high-backed armchair by a huge bay window overlooking the sweeping grounds of the retirement home she’s wound up in. The place is beautiful, just like her.

And the moment Bucky’s brain thinks of the damn word _beautiful_ , he also thinks of red hair and green eyes and wants to bash himself in the face with the shield.

“Well who’s going to hear us?” Bucky replies, shoving his hands in his pockets and slouching down the chair he’s in, feeling far too American and uncouth. “You reckon SHIELD have got you bugged?”

“Why would they bug an old thing like me?” she asks, wrinkled hands stroking over the blanket on her knees.

“Old thing, please,” Bucky says with a snort. “You’re the most badass dame to walk both sides of the Atlantic.”

Peggy laughs, the sound rough and cracking in her throat. “You always were a charmer." 

“Well I was standing next to Steve, that would make anyone look smooth by comparison,” Bucky says with a twisted rueful smile. Peggy holds out a hand and Bucky reaches over to take it, sighing and leaning his head against the wing of the chair.

“I can’t imagine how much you must miss him,” she says softly, and Bucky nods dumbly. “Time eases all wounds. But you haven’t had the time.”

“No,” Bucky says, voice thick. “Apparently being frozen doesn’t give you much chance to get over it.”

“Oh, James,” she says. “He loved you so very, very much. But you know that. He’d be proud of what you did.”

“I know,” Bucky sighs. “I just-” He breaks off, shakes his head. “I don’t want to be here, Peg. I want to be back where everything made sense. Before Steve fell.”

Peggy is shaking her head. “Do not do that to yourself,” she says, and in her croaking voice is the hint of steel Bucky remembers.

“I hate the future,” he mutters, roughly swiping the back of his hand over his eyes.

“Well maybe you need to stop referring to it as the future,” Peggy says sternly. “It’s your present now. And you’ve got to find your place in it.”

Bucky doesn’t reply straight away. He shrugs and lifts his eyes to hers. “SHIELD want me to be Captain America again,” he says. “Apparently the world’s in trouble. Need me to work with a team of superheroes or something.”

Peggy looks taken aback. “Then why are you here?”

“You know I never wanted to do it,” Bucky says a little forcefully, sitting up and pulling his hand from Peggy’s.

“James Buchanan Barnes, are you here because you need me to tell you what to do again?”

“Probably.”

“You know why the world needs a Captain America,” she says. “And you know why Steve did it. And you also know why _you_ were picked to take over from him, and don’t look at me like that. It wasn’t all to do with your strength-“

“I was convenient.”

“You stop that,” Peggy says. “And you can stop moping, get off your arse and go and help. You know as well as I am that you’re not going to disgrace his memory by letting anything happen to this world, when you both worked so hard to keep it safe the last time around.”

Bucky feels tears threatening, a painful lump in his throat. “Low blow, Carter.”

“It’s the truth,” she says. “My darling, you are just as good as he was. I wouldn’t have convinced you to put on that bloody suit if I thought otherwise.”

Blinking hard, Bucky shifts over and reaches for her hands again. She lets him take them, holding them both atop one of her own and covers them with her other. “I about had a heart attack when you showed up at that door,” she says gently, and shushes Bucky’s mumbled ‘ _sorry ma’am,_ ’ away. “But let me tell you, James Buchanan Barnes. I am so glad to see you again, so glad to see you safe and well.”

She pats his hand absent with her own. “Steve was the best of men. And you were his best friend for a reason. And you can do this.”

And Bucky is nodding, and his eyes are too warm and bright, and Peggy reaches up and wipes his tears away with frail knuckles. “Now no more of that,” she says gently.

“Yes Ma’am,” he says, and draws a shuddering breath in. “I guess I got to go catch a plane then. Run off and save the world.”

She smiles back. “Yes. I rather think you do.” 

 

* * *

 

When he returns, he finds that the door to his apartment is unlocked.

Dammit.

On high alert, he presses his palm to the door and slowly pushes it open. He’s got no weapons on him, seeing as he just got off the damn plane from England. Though considering the amount of people who know who he is and would want to break into his apartment, he’s not too worried. Annoyed, maybe. On the whole he just feels tired, though.

He’s expecting Fury but hoping for Coulson as he edges inside and kicks the door shut behind him. And obviously the world hates him, because as he rounds the corner he sees that it’s Natasha.

“I have a cell phone,” he says flatly, swinging down his bag and pulling off his jacket. “You can call me, you don’t need to break in here every time you - Natasha?”

He trails off as he gets a proper look at her. She’s standing by the counter with one arm crossed tightly over her middle, a file clutched in her fingers. The other hand is held up by her face, biting at her thumbnail. She looks exhausted and on edge, and slightly desperate.

“I need your help.”

“I know, you’ve asked already,” Bucky begins slowly, unsure of what’s happening here, but she shakes her head and cuts him off.

“This is personal,” she says. She steps over and hands him the file. He looks at it warily and then takes it. Shooting her another suspicious glance, he lays it out on the counter and flips it open. Across the top are the words _Agent Clint Barton AKA Hawkeye_ , and a photo of a blond man with an off-center grin and a faint black eye.

“The same man who stole the tesseract took Clint,” she says. “He’s been compromised. And we can’t find him.”

“He’s a SHIELD Agent?” Bucky asks slowly. He flips over the page, frowns at the photo of the man standing with, of all things, a god damn bow and arrow. His list of missions is extensive, as is his list of skills. Archery expert, top marksman, hand to hand combat, civilian rescue. The list goes on.

“He’s my best friend,” Natasha says. “And if we don’t get him and stop him soon, SHIELD will be stopping him at all costs.”

He looks at her, but she’s too busy staring down at the black and white photo, face impassive. Bucky can’t help the strange twang of disappointed jealousy that rears his head; neither can he stop the flippant words from tumbling free from his mouth. “Best friend, huh?”

Natasha sends him a sharp look, and he immediately feels like an utter heel. “Yes. It is possible for men and women to be friends. And don’t you dare tell me you never had a friend you’d die for.”

Suitably chastised and wondering how the hell this woman can get to him so much when he’s only met her twice, Bucky wisely chooses to shut his trap. He stares down at the file some more, composing himself enough to speak. “He’s dangerous enough to be stopped at all costs?”

“He’s the best marksman in the world. I don’t know what Loki did to him, but he seems to be following Loki's orders. And if he’s out of control, then yes. He’s very dangerous.”

“Loki, our tesseract stealing friend,” Bucky mutters. “And apparently our marksman stealing friend.”

His thoughts halt as slender and strong fingers curl around his wrist. He looks up and is suddenly aware of just how close she is to him.

“Please,” Natasha whispers, and whoa, she’s very close.

Bucky inhales deeply through his nose, letting the breath out somewhat shakily. “Why are you coming to me? If he’s that good, surely SHIELD will be looking for him.”

“They are, but I don’t trust them.”

“You don’t trust the people you work for?”

She shakes her head, eyes flickering down and back up. “I trust you.”

And Bucky doesn’t know if she’s playing him because she truly misses her friend, or if she’s playing him to try and get him on board with the mission. There’s definitely more to this than meets the eye, but right now he can’t bring himself to care because she’s still got her gaze locked with his and she’s leaning ever closer.

She’s so close that Bucky can taste her, soft and warm breath brushing his mouth. She still has hold of his wrist and she’s trembling against him, and somehow his hand is on her shoulder. She still looks lost, something desperate around the edges, but she’s a spy, she’s a goddamn black belt in faking it-

Bucky leans back, just enough. He wishes he could be proud of himself for exercising restraint, but a part of him is furiously demanding to know why he’s not just kissed her already, damnit.

 _Focus,_ he tells himself sharply. “Why are you coming to me,” he asks again, voice low 

He expects her to say because he’s Captain America. Because he’s a hero.

“Because you’re like me,” she says, and those green eyes are going to be the second death of him. “You’re a lost piece of weaponry, just the same.”

He swallows, hard. “A weapon, huh?”

Her mouth hitches in the faintest of tired smiles. “You’re not the only one who was made. Or unmade, maybe.”

He thinks of being strapped to that metal table. The relentless pain humming through his body, peaking and spiking and making him scream. Unmade is definitely the word he’d use.

“Okay. I’m in with the saving the world gig,” he says, and she doesn’t even react, doesn’t seem surprised. “Talk to me about Barton. What do you need specifically from me?”

“A promise,” Natasha says. “That if we get a chance to get Clint back without hurting him, you’ll help me.”

“You got it,” he says, and his eyes involuntarily flick down to her mouth and back again. “We gonna shake on it, or what?”

She smiles, a gentle, warm curve to her mouth. “Nick told me you weren’t going to be what I expected,” she says, a soft sweep of eyelashes as she looks up at him. And he might have been frozen in ice for seventy years but he knows when someone is making eyes at him. And this, he knows; this feels familiar and almost like home.

“What did you expect?” he asks, and his thumb strokes over the fabric of her shirt where his palm still rests on her shoulder.

Natasha shrugs. “Not this,” she says, words so quiet they’re barely more than breath. “You’re something else entirely.”

Bucky is about to prompt her into expanding on that statement when they’re interrupted by a soft beeping. She immediately steps back from him and the moment shatters. Pulling her phone from her pocket, she sounds all business as she answers it, all trace of soft flirtatious warmth gone.

She walks away across the room, leaving Bucky feeling utterly wrong footed and quite a bit like a fool. 

 _You’ve been played, Barnes_ , a voice in his head tells him and he curses himself for thinking that he was having a moment with a goddamn spy.

“Alright, I’ll meet you there,” she says curtly, and hangs up the phone. She looks across at Bucky, expectant. “Suit up, Captain. We’re needed. 

“For what?”

“Loki is in Stuttgart. We’re going to go and take him down.”

Bucky breathes out deeply, looks to the open cases on his coffee table. The issue of Natasha is momentarily forgotten in the wake of him actually being at the point of putting the suit back on. Stepping up and doing the right thing. He thinks of Peggy’s words, her unwavering faith in both him and Steve, and he finds himself nodding.

“Alright,” he says. “Let’s hope I didn’t stack on any weight while in the deep freeze. That suit was tight on me anyhow.”

And Natasha smiles again. “I think you’ll be fine, Captain. Go pack up everything you need. I’m calling for a jet.”

 

* * *

 

Bucky stares at himself in the tiny cramped bathroom of the jet. His reflection stares back. Tousled brown hair tumbling over his forehead, grey eyes carefully taking in his appearance. Red and white stripes. Worn blue fabric, dully shining buckles. And of course, the white star in the centre of it all. 

It’s like he never stopped.

The suit fits perfectly; of course it does. He’d not forgotten the amount of buckles and straps the damn thing has, though his pockets and holsters are uncomfortably empty. The shield rests against the counter by his knee, waiting patiently.

“Fuck, Steve,” Bucky says as the jet dips and sways beneath his feet. “Dressing up like a fucking flag all over again. What am I thinking?”

There’s no reply of course. But Bucky didn’t expect one. The silence he gets instead is deafening, weighing heavy on his heart and making his eyes feel too warm. He’s so tired, and with every minute he spends in the future the more exhausted he gets, the more homesick.

And despite knowing he’s about to help save the world again, he still wishes he’d fallen from that train instead of Steve.

He presses the heels of his palms against his eyes. God, what was Peggy talking about - he can’t do this, he’s no Steve Rogers, he’s just some dumbass paratrooper that got himself caught, wrong place wrong time.

“Can’t do this Steve,” he whispers, pressing his palms harder against his eyelids, until white spots dance across the blackness. “I’m no Captain America, what am I even doing-”

The jet lurches violently beneath his feet; he’s not ready for it and he’s thrown off balance, tripping back and banging his head against the wall. He curses in shock and grabs hold of the edge of the sink to regain his balance, his other hand clutching the back of his head. He gapes at his reflection for a moment, and then a strangled laugh breaks free and he claps his hand over his mouth to hold it back. He knows it’s turbulence, he knows it’s caused by air currents, he doesn’t believe in ghosts or any shit like that. But that smack to the back of his head sure felt like a tiny Steve Rogers cuffing him for being a moron.

“Coincidence,” he mutters. “A goddamn coincidence.”

Coincidence notwithstanding, it’s exactly what he needed. He rubs ruefully at the back of his head, takes a deep breath and pulls himself together. One last battle, he tells himself silently. For Steve, for Peggy, for the Commandos. One last battle is all he’s got to do. And then…

Well. He doesn’t know.

He shoves that lingering unanswered question aside and bends down to pick up the shield. He sets his jaw and walks out of the bathroom with his chin lifted almost defiantly.

Ducking down to avoid the metal roof of the jet, he ducks into the co-pilots seat, leaning the shield against his knees and reaching for a set of headphones. Natasha's eyes slide away from him, fixing on the horizon in front.

“You look good.”

Bucky snorts, folding his arms across his star-adorned chest. “You saying that because you honestly mean it, or because you’re trying to butter me up?”

Natasha hums noncommittally. “I guess I deserved that.”

“Damn right you do,” Bucky says shortly. “I’m here to save the word, lady. Not to get jerked around by you.”

“In my defense, you let yourself get jerked around pretty easily.”

Bucky scowls at her. “Should have known. Fucking _spies_.”

She actually seems to be a little offended by that. “How do you know that what I was doing with you wasn’t real?” she asks him with a frown. ”Why couldn’t that part be real? Maybe when I’m dealing with the mission I’m putting on a front.”

And that’s utterly beside the point. “I don’t want to have to work it out!” Bucky bursts out. “I just woke up after spending seventy years sleeping. My whole life has been turned upside-down and I could do with a friend that I don’t have to spend every waking moment second guessing!”

“Well then you’re in the wrong business, Barnes,” is her only reply. “Your only friends in the world are spies."

And the quiet truth in her voice deflates Bucky, all of his anger seeping away to be replaced with despondent acceptance. “Wrong,” Bucky says after a beat. “I also am friends with a ninety-three year old British lady.”

And it’s so quick he almost misses it. An amused twist to her mouth that’s nothing like the soft, slow smiles from earlier. “I stand corrected. Even though I’m pretty sure your old British friend used to be a spy, too."

“Ah, fucksticks,” Bucky says. “You got me there.”

She glances over at him, eyes amused and almost fond, and he looks away uncomfortably.

“Just get us to Stuttgart,” he says sharply, staring out forwards and refusing to linger on Natasha Romanov and her seemingly endless array of different faces. If he doesn’t, he’ll end up trying to work out which is the real one, and well. He’s pretty sure that’s a task that could drive a fella mad. 

 

* * *

 

Bucky has seen a lot of shit in his lifetime. He’s seen his ninety-five pound best friend turn into a man-mountain of a super-soldier. He’s seen a man literally pull his own face off. He’s seen himself survive being a popsicle for seventy years.

But he’s never seen a red and gold robot with lasers shooting from its hands and feet fighting a demi-god wearing a green cape and golden horns while waving a magical walking stick around.

Fuck, the world got weird.

“Who the hell is that?” he asks, leaning forwards in his seat.

“Iron Man,” Natasha says, and Bucky remembers a file he skimmed over.

“Howard's kid?”

“I wouldn‘t call him that to his face if you ever want to get on with him,” Natasha says grimly, flicking switches on the roof above her. “Loki, stand down,” she says, and Bucky hears her modulated voice reverberate outside of the jet.

The ridiculously dressed demi-god looks up, face twisted in anger. Iron Man is up on a knee, recovering from a blow, firing off his damn hand lasers, but Loki shrugs it off like it’s nothing, swinging his staff around and sending Iron Man flying with a vicious blow to his head. Several civilians have to run out of the way, expressions terrified.

“Oh hell. Let me out,” Bucky says, pulling his headset off and grabbing his helmet, buckling it up. He picks up the shield and adjusts his grip

“Are you sure?”

“Sweetheart, fighting superhuman megalomaniacs in Germany is kind of my thing,” Bucky grins. Adrenaline is starting to thrum through his body, pulse quickening. “Sorry. Not sweetheart, I know. Open her up.”

And Natasha doesn’t question him again. She just gives him a look, an _‘I’m amused but by god I don’t want you to know it'_ look, and he half wonders if that’s real or if it’s all part of one of her elaborate plans.

But then the back door of the jet is opening, and the noise from the street below rushes up to meet them; screams and sirens and the clash of the fight. Shield in hand, he runs to the open door and hangs out, gripping one of the hydraulic rams and surveying the chaos beneath him.

“Natasha, move me over,” he bellows, and the jet moves so it’s hovering directly above the fight-

Bucky jumps.

Feet first, he leaps from the back of the jet, shield held up triumphantly high. Loki doesn’t even see him coming; he hits him with both boots right between the shoulder blades and knocks him to the floor, crouching on his back and holding the shield with both hands right underneath the edge of that ridiculous helmet, warm vibranium biting into exposed skin.

“Stand down or I’ll take your head clean off, pal.”

Everything goes oddly quiet. Over his own harsh breathing he can hear the murmur of the restless crowd, confused and questioning. The jet thuds above them, and in the distance he can hear more sirens.

“You’ll have to get off if you want me to hold my hands up and surrender,” Loki answers in a voice that sounds almost British, full of bored condescension. Bucky’s half tempted to break his fucking neck just for the tone. He doesn’t, but he might just lean a little more heavily on the shield.

“Okay, Captain America just dropped from the sky,” a voice says from behind him. “I want someone to confirm that that is a thing that just happened.”

Bucky doesn’t take his eyes off of Loki, but in his peripheral vision he sees red and gold armour step closer and then bend down to take the staff. It’s glowing with a strange blue light that matches the tesseract and reminds Bucky far too much of a Hydra weapon.

“I got the glowstick, Cap,” the voice says, and Bucky takes that as his cue to move. He climbs up off of Loki, who rolls over to sit on his ass, looking warily at Bucky.

“Are all of your soldiers this…decorative?”

“No, I’m special and I’m really not in the fucking mood, pal,” Bucky says threateningly. “You want to go another round?”

Loki holds both hands up, and as he does his armour fades away, leaving him sitting there in regal green robes. Bucky still doesn’t trust him as far as he can throw him, and he isn’t going to be fooled by the gesture.

“Oh wow,” Iron Man steps up to his side, Loki’s staff held jauntily over his shoulder. The faceplate is flipped up and Bucky’s stomach lurches to see the face, so like Howard's. He’s looking at Bucky with a half-grin on his face. “You are nothing like what I expected.”

“I’m getting that a lot,” Bucky says, shifting his grip on the shield. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“Not entirely sure if I’m disappointed,” Stark says. “You pack a punch for a ninety year old.”

“Damn right I do,” Bucky says. “Stark, right?”

“I’d say the one and only, but you knew my dad, right?” Stark says, and it’s casual but there’s an underlying edge there, something that’s uneasy and cautious. It has Daddy issues written all over it, but Bucky isn’t dumb enough to say that out loud, and especially not with Natasha’s warning fresh in mind.

“Yeah. Hell of a guy. Didn’t have anything quite as cool as your get up though.”

And the younger Stark grins, free and easy. “Tony,” he offers. “I’d shake your hand, but you know. Reindeer games over there might take it as a cue to try something.”

“He better not,” Bucky says. “The last power-mad dictator I met in Germany didn’t come out of it so well.”

Tony nods thoughtfully. “I hear you shredded him and sent him into another dimension.”

“Less shredded, more…dissolved. Into teeny tiny particles and then sent to another dimension.”

“If you’re going to shred me, or dissolve me, please get on and do it,” Loki interrupts, sounding pained.

“We’ll take a raincheck,” Tony says, just as Bucky says “I’ll add it to my to-do list.”

Tony laughs, delighted. “Oh I am so glad they defrosted you, Capsicle. Now, where’s Romanov? Jarvis, tell her to hop that beautiful ass down here so we can load up the jet with successfully beaten bad-guy.”

Bucky lets him talk, still standing guard. He looks up and around at the remnants of the crowd, some of whom are looking at him, flabbergasted. And old man stands as tall as he is able, supporting his wife with a hand under her elbow. When Bucky meets his eyes he salutes, eyes bright and proud and grateful. Bucky nods in return and the man turns to leave, and Bucky unconsciously tightens his grip on the shield. By the time the news hits the morning papers, everyone will know that he’s back. Captain America, falling from the sky and defeating bad guys all over again.

He’s entirely not comfortable thinking about it, so he shoves the thought firmly from his mind. He’s just got to get this done and then he can get out of the way again, away from the staring eyes and the pressure. He thinks of his quiet apartment in Manhattan and aches to be back there, hidden away from everything and everyone

“Hey Cap. You speak German? Can you get the cops to move their cars out of the way?”

Tony’s voice brings him back to the moment. Nodding slowly, he takes a deep breath and turns back to help in whatever way he can.

 

* * *

 

“Whoa, time out Cap. What do you mean you’re not coming with us?”

Bucky shrugs, leaning against the side of the jet and pointedly not looking at either Tony or Natasha. Tony frowns at him; he’s removed his helmet completely now, revealing tousled brown hair and a strong jaw. He’s a handsome man, but a bit of an asshole. Bucky quite likes him.

“You wanted Loki captured, we did it, right?” he says. “Job done.”

“No, job not done,” Tony counters. “Tesseract still out there somewhere? You know, the magical-”

“I’m familiar with it,” Bucky cuts him off. “But I’m going to stay here. Help clear up the mess.”

“Bucky-” Natasha begins.

“I did what you need me to do,” he says, and lifts his eyes to hers. “And I wouldn’t be of much more use. I’m a soldier. Not a spy.”

She falls silent. “Okay,” she shrugs and won’t meet his eyes. “Your call.”

“Call me if you need any more bad guys stomping on.”

She sends him a funny look, and then turns away without looking back, climbing into the jet.

“Whoa,” Tony says, sounding startled. ”How the hell did you manage to piss Romanov off without losing your junk?”

“What?”

“She is _mad_ ,” Tony says emphatically. “And normally when she’s mad, she throttles grown men with her thighs.”

Bucky stares at the open back of the jet. “Oh I don’t fucking know,” he says. “One of her faces might be mad at me. The others probably aren’t.”

Tony grimaces in sympathy. “You got acquainted with the amazing triple imposter act, huh?”

“I don’t know who I got acquainted with,” Bucky says tiredly. “You better go.”

“Alright,” Tony says, tucking his helmet under his arm like a racing car driver. “You good here?”

“Yeah, cops are putting me up in a hotel when we're done,” Bucky says. “Don’t think they quite know what to do with me.”

“You’re a living legend who has just re-appeared after seventy years on ice,” Tony snorts. “I don’t know if anyone knows what to do with you.”

“You can stow that shit,” Bucky says. “You’ll give people higher expectations of me than I’m comfortable with.”

Tony grins. “You’re Captain America. You’re the gold standard, baby.”

“Get out of here,” Bucky says, and Tony salutes him jauntily before heading away.

“Oh, and Stark?” Bucky calls. Tony wheels around on a heel, and Bucky has no idea how he can be that nimble in that amount of armor. He pauses, rubs at his mouth and wonders if he should voice the vague nagging thought that’s been eating at him since he saw Loki fire off that staff of his.

“That glowstick,” Bucky eventually says. “It works exactly like a hydra weapon.”

Tony nods, mouth twisted contemplatively. “Good to know. Catch you later, Cap.”

Bucky waves him off and steps back to watch the jet take off into the night. He knows he could be aboard, but part of him is holding back. He’s out of his depth with Natasha, and as much as he likes Tony at face value…they’re not his team. Even though his team are long gone, to him it’s barely any time at all, and to simply dive back in with another seems wrong, somehow 

Though, as he turns to talk to the police and work out what he can to do help, aware of the gazes that keep lingering on him, part of him wonders what Steve would have done. If he’d have stayed to help, or if he’d have wanted to go and be part of the team.

Well, Steve certainly wouldn’t have been dumb enough to fall head over heels for a goddamn spy. Not twice, anyhow.

 _You made the call. Suck it up,_ he tells himself. He takes a deep breath, shoulders the shield and goes to help.

 

* * *

 

A shrill ringing jerks Bucky out of his slumber. His head snaps up off the pillow and he groans as he looks at the clock; it’s just gone four AM which means he’s been asleep for all of an hour. He’s even still in the goddamn suit, though he did manage to get out of the helmet, gloves and boots before collapsing onto the hotel room bed.

The ringing doesn’t stop, and he pushes himself up onto an elbow, rubbing his face with one hand and groping for his phone with the other. He finds it cheerfully tangled in sheets and pulls it out. It’s an unknown caller, but he did say to Natasha to call him if she needed so he’s not about to ignore it.

He swipes the answer button with his thumb and the screen turns to a video call. On the other side are Tony and Natasha and they look _wrecked_. Natasha has a bruise on her forehead and her arm is strapped up against her chest. Tony has a full black eye and a nasty gash on his temple, and his eyes are suspiciously red.

“What the fuck happened to you?” Bucky gapes, struggling upright and rubbing at his eyes with his fingertips.

“Barton, the Hulk, Loki,” Tony says listlessly. “Not necessarily in that order.”

The bottom drops out of Bucky’s stomach. Barton. “Oh, shit,” he curses. That’s why Natasha was mad at him, that’s why she was so off with him when he said he wasn’t going any further. He made her a promise and he broke it. “Oh hell, Natasha – I am so-”

“Don’t,” she says tightly. She clenches her jaw and looks away, and Bucky feels like the absolute worst.

“Loki got away, as did Barton. We lost Banner and Thor. Who you missed. Thor is Loki’s brother by the way, another demi-god who turned up to tell us that Loki has an army from outer space that’s he’s planning to unleash.”

“An army,” Bucky says blankly. “From outer space. 

“Yeah, and he’s going to use the cube to open up the front door,” Tony says. “But we don’t know where he’s going to pull this stunt.”

“How the hell?” Bucky asks. “You had it all under control six hours ago!”

“And then Barton turned up and almost knocked the goddamn helicarrier out of the sky with a single arrow,” Tony snaps back. “Are you going to sit there and chew us out or are you going to help?” 

The helicarrier. The flying boat from the files. Right. Bucky blows out a breath and shoves a hand through his hair, trying to organize his thoughts. He puts the guilt and the worry about Natasha on the back burner and instead focuses on the whole army-from-space-imminent part of the problem.

“Okay. What do you need me to do?” Bucky says, and Tony seems slightly taken aback at the lack of argument or resistance. He opens his mouth and then closes it again, shrugging helplessly.

“I don't even know where to start. We almost had a lock on him before Barton blew up the computer systems."

“Why did he leave us here?” Natasha says suddenly. “He could have finished us here, now. But he chose to run.”

“Divide and conquer,” Tony says, and shakes his head. “But he’s gotta know that we’re not just going to give up. So why walk away and give us a chance to regroup?”

“Because he’s a megalomaniac?” Bucky offers slowly, because to him it’s obvious. “Because he won’t beat you unless he can shove it in the world’s face? It’s all ego and front, just like the Red Skull.”

“He wants an audience,” Natasha breathes, looking to Tony. “He wants to be seen beating us.”

“And Loki’s full tilt diva,” he says, thinking hard. “He’ll pick somewhere conspicuous, somewhere for maximum impact-”

“Somewhere that will be a kick in the teeth to us guys, but also doubles as a power source for the tesseract?” Bucky offers with raised brows. “Somewhere that can’t be shut down because it’s not part of the grid?”

Tony’s mouth drops open. “Son of a bitch. He’s going to use my goddamn tower.”

“ _Blyat_ ,” Natasha curses. “Stark, the amount of civilians-”

“Someone come and get me,” Bucky says, clambering up off the bed and grabbing his boots. “You can fly, right, Stark?”

“Yeah, no - my suit just got dragged through a turbine,” Tony says, looking put out. “With some repairs I can get to New York but probably not Stuttgart and back.”

“Okay. Stark, get to New York. Natasha, come and get me,” Bucky instructs. “I guess the moment this fight kicks off the others will know where to go. Tony, get fixed up and get there. If you can handle it, start without us. If you can’t, wait.” 

“You got it Cap,” Tony says, and Natasha glances at him like she wasn’t expecting that to be his response, but then she just nods and over the tiny screen she meets Bucky’s eyes.

“You got it Cap,” she echoes, and then she’s gone, and all Bucky can see is his own reflection in the darkened screen.

 

* * *

 

The jet rumbles beneath them, determined and unwavering. Bucky once again sits in the co-pilot's seat, and he’s got a tablet balanced on his knee, flicking through news feeds from New York and waiting for – dreading – the first news of any attack. New York is his home, and fierce protective anger is burning through him, making him restless. The jet is maxed out, streaking across the ocean like a shadow, and if he gets there to find the place ruined he’s going to personally rip Loki apart with his bare hands. He might do it anyway, just because. 

Natasha has barely said anything to him since she picked him up, but he doesn’t care. They’ve got bigger issues to worry about right now. New York is his main concern, but if they fail to stop Loki and his army, then the rest of the world will quickly follow. And the further they get, the harder it will be to claw their way back and win.

Natasha’s voice is barely audible over the humming of the engines when she finally does speak. “ETA sixty minutes,” she says, flicking several switches on the console to engage the autopilot. “Can you take over while I suit up?”

“Yes ma’am,” Bucky says. She rises slowly, and Bucky can tell she’s hurting with her run in from the Hulk. It makes him want to check her over himself, to make sure she’s alright, but he knows that she’d never allow it. Maybe if she truly trusted him, she’d indulge him and let him do his checking. Though the question still stands over whether she does trust him. Whether she’s capable of trusting him, or indeed herself 

“You sure you can handle it?” Natasha asks as he jumps into the pilot’s seat in one smooth move.

“Can’t be that hard,” Bucky shrugs. “Just got to keep her level and not hit any skyscrapers, right?”

Natasha moves out of his way. “Considering we’re crossing the Atlantic right now, skyscrapers shouldn’t be a problem.”

She vanishes back into the darkness at the back of the jet, leaving Bucky alone with his thoughts. They aren’t pleasant ones; he feels so incredibly guilty for not being there to help, like he’s let Tony and Natasha down. Also restlessly stirring is the worry that he’s not going to good enough, that he’s out of practice after being on ice for so long. What if he misses something, gets someone hurt? He’s going to be in the middle of New York, defending the city whilst wearing the stars and stripes and if he fucks it up he’s going to let _everyone_ down. Fuck, he wishes Steve were here.

Luckily, Natasha returns before his thoughts can completely run away with him. He twists around to see she has indeed suited up; she’s wearing an all in one black fitted suit with heavy boots and fingerless gloves. There are strange looking bracelet-type things around her wrists, and he would bet his bottom dollar they’re weapons of some sort. His eyes are drawn to the center of her belt buckle, the strange red shape that adorns it.

“What is that?” he asks curiously, cocking his head as he tries to work it out. “An hourglass?”

Natasha shakes her head, reaches down to brush her fingers against the buckle. “Codename, Black Widow.”

“Oh wow,” Bucky says, brows shooting up. She nudges at his shoulder and he obediently scoots back over to let her take the controls. “That’s not terrifying at all.”

“Why, because you were trying to sleep with me and you don’t want to get bitten?”

“I can handle a few bites,” Bucky says, and her mouth quirks tiredly as she sinks back into the pilot’s seat. “But no. I’m not so hot on the second-guessing thing, if I hadn’t made that clear.”

Seeming tired and not altogether there in the moment with him, Natasha nods slowly, unblinking. She reaches up, tucks a curl of red hair behind her ear. “I have a very specific skillset,” she says quietly. “It’s been a work in progress since I was seven. It’s taught me that the truth is just a matter of circumstance. It can adapt and change, depending on the time and place.”

“Well I call bullshit on that,” Bucky says. “No-one can live without a sense of self, right? Even if you have to lie your ass off to make being a spy work, there’s still got to be a you. And it’d suck if you never got to share that with anyone.”

“It’s a good defence as any,” Natasha says absently. “Do you think we’re going to survive this?”

“I have no idea,” Bucky shrugs. “Though I’ll be pretty pissed if I do die again only a fortnight after the last time.”

And there it is again, the amused twist to her mouth that Bucky really is starting to think is genuine.

“I’m sorry I jerked you around,” Natasha says, hand drifting to press against her ribs for a moment, testing and checking. “But for the record, I did very much want to kiss you.”

“Now unfortunately, lady who cried wolf, I don’t know whether to believe that or not,” Bucky says, and he sighs. “Look, you don’t owe me anything. We barely know each other.”

“I know, but somehow I feel like I do,” Natasha replies, with a small frown that looks oddly confused, like she can’t work it out herself. “You make me want to be honest,” she continues with a small, self-depreciating smile. “Which is new, for me.”

“Once again, how do I know you’re not lying?”

Finally, she turns her head to see him. She’s still bruised and battered and she’s the most beautiful goddamn thing he’s ever seen. If Steve were here, Bucky would be raving to him non-stop about red curls and green eyes. And Steve would endure patiently, rolling his eyes and patting Bucky on the shoulder, amused by Bucky’s rapturous excitement.

“You don’t,” she says quietly, and he looks away, ashen disappointment curling heavy in the pit of his stomach. But then, “And I guess I’ve only got myself to blame for that.”

Bucky looks back over at her, sitting calm and beautiful and sad in the pilot’s seat. And the disappointed feelings washes away and he thinks that maybe he’s somehow in love with a goddamn spy. It sends his throat tightening in a strange way, because immediately his mind opens up with new options, new vistas of possibilities about what the two of them can do after the battle, when they make it through. If they make it through.

What Peggy said about making the future his present suddenly makes a whole lot of sense.

It hits him like a ton of bricks, like grief all over again, because that would mean letting go of the past, moving on from everything he’s lost. Making a new life for himself that he’ll never be able to share with Steve. But maybe, as much as it’s going to hurt, it’s not going to be as impossible as he thought.

“Well,” he says slowly, heart thudding strangely behind his sternum. “I don’t exactly have a clean sheet, myself. So I guess I can’t really judge you. But maybe I’d like to get to know the real you. No jerking around.”

And Natasha doesn’t smile back. Just looks at him with those wide green eyes that are going to be the death of him. “Maybe I’d like that too.”

 

* * *

 

They can see the portal in the sky before they even see New York. Black and menacing, edged in a blue that’s exactly the same shade as the tesseract. 

“Fucking shitting balls,” Bucky curses, leaning forwards to see, grasping hold of the arms of the co-pilots chair.

“Succinct, but not what I expected from Captain America,” Natasha says, eyes also locked on the portal. “ _Blyat._ ”

“Okay, how about golly gosh darnit, gee that looks bad,” Bucky says, distracted. “Take us in. Land in goddamn Times Square if you have to.”

The radio in front of them crackles to life and Bucky hears a voice coming through the headset, tinny and distant. He grabs it and holds one side to his ear. “Stark?”

“Took your damn time,” Tony shouts back. “Thor and Banner are here but we’re a mess, Cap.”

“Hold your ground, we’re coming in,” Bucky instructs. “See you in-”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence. There’s an almighty explosion and he’s thrown clean out of the chair, sprawling across the floor. His head cracks against the floor and he tastes copper in his mouth, and he can hear alarms beeping in distress. The jet lurches violently, spinning down towards the ground.

“Hold on, Cap!” Natasha shouts, flicking a switch and then grabbing the controls with both hands, trying to halt the wayward descent of the jet. It’s barely controllable; clipping buildings as it tumbles from the sky. Bucky is thrown around like a rag doll; he braces his back against the steel bulkhead and a foot against the base of the seat and just about manages to keep himself from being flung from the jet as it crashes to the ground, grinding through concrete and smashing nose first into the side of a building.

“Fucking hell,” Bucky gasps, and he pushes himself to his feet, groping for the shield. “Natasha, are you-”

“I’m okay,” she says breathlessly, and he hears her moving. “I’m not hurt.”

There’s a clunk of machinery and a grinding hiss, and light pours into the back of the jet. Bucky heads towards the opening, listening grimly to the sirens and screaming he can already hear. He hauls himself out and climbs up onto of the jet, gaping as he looks around. There are fucking aliens everywhere; ugly grey-skinned bastards with guns, some racing through the sky in goddamn flying chariots. Even as he watches, there’s an almighty rumble and a thing the size of the goddamn Chrysler building comes gliding out of the portal, swimming through the air like a fish in water.

“Oh my god,” he hears Natasha gasp, and she’s suddenly there at his side, holding onto his elbow and staring up at the sky. “Cap-”

“Yeah. Not looking good for us,” Bucky replies distantly.

Before she can reply there’s the whine and roar of repulsors and Iron Man lands next to them in a loud clang of metal on metal. Seconds later and another figure joins them, tall and broad and bedecked in a red cape, wielding a heavy-looking hammer.

“Okay, so this has all gone to hell,” Tony says, flipping up the faceplate to look at Bucky. “They’re swarming all the way back to thirty-ninth, and we can’t even get near the top of the building because Hawkeye is up there. Cap, we’re in trouble.”

“This is the Captain of which you spoke?” the red-caped stranger asks, brow furrowing as he looks at Bucky. 

“Cap, Thor; Thor, Cap,” Tony says. “Can we abridge with the pleasantries until-”

There’s a deafening roaring bellow and Bucky about shits his pants as from nowhere a huge green colossus leaps towards them, landing next to the jet. It’s like a man on a quadruple dose of super-serum, but green and really fucking angry.

“Oh, and that’s the Hulk,” Tony shouts as the Hulk roars up at the sky, slamming huge green fists to the floor in rage. “He’s great at smashing.”

“Should we be worried?” Natasha asks, standing perfectly still.

“Voluntary transformation,” Tony tells her, and she relaxes. “He’s quite happy to help out.”

“Whether he is willing to help or not makes no difference,” Thor says gravely. “I fear we are lost.”

“If I could just get near the damn portal,” Tony says, but he’s shaking his head and seems utterly dejected. “Fucking Hawkeye. Much more and SHIELD are going to bomb the tower just to get rid of him.”

Bucky looks from Tony to Thor, lost for words momentarily. He’s only just got here and already they seem to be losing hope. Not that he can blame them, considering the odds, but still. They can’t just give up. He desperately tries to think what Steve would do if he were here, and all his brain provides is ' _he’d probably make a goddamn motivational speech.'_

Fuck it. If it works for one Captain America, it could work for both.

“Alright, shut your fucking yaps and listen to me,” he says loudly, and everyone falls silent and turns towards him. Including the Hulk. “If we play this smart we can maybe win. Maybe we can't but we can give them fucking hell on the way out. But we’re not going to sit here with our thumbs up our asses and say we’ve already lost. I didn’t spend seventy years as an icicle for that.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“Wow, Cap,” Tony says, reaching out to clap him on the shoulder. “You have a way with words.”

And Thor is laughing, and Hulk is roaring in what sounds like approval. Natasha takes a step closer and her fingers brush his elbow. “Tell us what to do.”

Buoyed by their response and bolstered by Natasha’s hand on his arm, Bucky thinks quickly. “Okay. Tony, you can fly. You’re going to give us a lift, and then get up there and try and get rid of those flying bastards. Take the perimeter, stop them getting too far.”

“I also can fly,” Thor interjects.

“Well, that’s great. Demi-god, right?” Bucky says, and Thor nods. “You reckon you can block up that portal a little? Wipe a few out before they can get down to street level?”

“Gladly,” Thor says with a grim smile. He starts to spin the hammer in his hand, and then he’s gone, shooting up into the sky like some sort of rocket.

“Hulk?” Bucky asks, unsure as to whether he’s actually going to take orders. Last he heard, Hulk had rampaged through the helicarrier and nearly killed everyone. It’s a promising start; Hulk turns to him with a grunt, back heaving. “You feel like squashing some big fish?”

Hulk grins at him, and then he’s gone in one terrifying leap, crashing into the side of a building and throwing a fistful of chitauri soldiers through the air, before taking another leap towards one of the huge whale-like monstrosities that are crushing and cleaving their way through buildings like they’re nothing more than sticks of butter. 

“Alright, let’s get this moving, where do you want a lift to?” Tony shouts, and Bucky turns back to look at him.

“Top of Stark Tower,” Bucky yells back, drawing his gun and shooting at several foot soldiers who have spotted them and are moving their way. He drops three and Natasha has her gun in hand, taking care of the rest. “We’re going to go and tackle Barton.”

“Uh, no – he’s right on top of the portal,” Tony says. “I drop you there and you get an arrow in your eye socket.”

“Take Bucky up,” Natasha says. “Can you keep him busy for a while?”

“I can try,” Bucky says. “Where are you going?”

“Trust me,” Natasha says, “And go. I’ll meet you up there.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Bucky says, because now is probably not the time for arguing, and Peggy Carter long ago taught him that there is never any place for misogyny disguised as chivalry, no matter how instinctive it is. Besides, from what he knows of Natasha, she can most definitely hold her own. “Stark, get me as high as you can.”

“Alright kiddo, belt up,” Tony says, and Bucky feels him grab the back of his suit. “Your curfew is ten, don’t be late.”

He’s got a retort ready to go but it’s lost as Tony shoots straight up into the sky, carrying Bucky with him. It’s an exhilarating rush that leaves his stomach behind on the sidewalk; it only catches up with him as Tony drops him atop Stark Tower, not quite on the highest level but on what looks like a deck belonging to the penthouse inside-

He raises his shield just in time to deflect an arrow that appears from fucking nowhere.

He barely has time to think when there’s a sudden pain in his foot; he cries out and looks down to see there’s a fucking arrow embedded in his boot and shit, Tony was right, Hawkeye is going to have him if he doesn’t do something, and quickly-

He twists around and scrambles forwards, hurling himself through one of the glass windows of the penthouse, shield first. It shatters as he dives through, and Bucky feels another sharp pain in the back of his shoulder as he skids along the floor, scrambling up and over the bar that’s at the back of the room, sending an array of bottles and glasses smashing the floor.

“Sorry, Stark,” he pants as liquor drips from the counter and pools around him, and he winces. “Son of a bitch.” He gropes over his shoulder and grabs hold of the arrow that’s embedded in the back of his shoulder, wrenching it out. He similarly grabs the one in his foot and yanks it free, tossing it aside with a clatter. It hurts but not too badly, and he heals quick anyhow so he’s not going to stop for a couple of minor scratches.

Right. So now he’s inside and out of the way, but he’s meant to be keeping Barton busy, not hiding from him. Bucky just needs to get up to him so he can engage hand to hand, because he bets the closer he is to Barton, the lesser Barton’s advantage will be.

“Alright, Robin Hood,” he says through gritted teeth. “You asked for it.”

Shield in hand, he pushes himself up and edges towards the window he just came through. He knows enough about lines of sight to know that if he sticks close to the side of the building, Barton is going to have trouble getting a shot. Even so, he pulls his gun from his side and holds it in hand as he edges towards the space where the window used to be. Looking around, he spots an access ladder tucked into a corner of the building which leads right to the top.

Movement catches his eye; he looks up just in time to see Barton leaning out over the edge of the roof, obviously looking for him. Without a pause he shoots directly upwards, and Barton whips out of sight.

“Next one goes between your eyes,” he yells up.

“Screw you,” a voice yells back. “You come anywhere near and-”

Barton’s voice cuts out with a cry. Bucky’s heart skips in his chest, and he hears the unmistakable sounds of a scuffle going on-

“Fucking hell, Natasha!”

He lunges for the ladder, swinging his shield onto his back and climbing up as fast as he can. He tumbles over the top onto the roof; he can _feel_ the humming of the portal from here but his eyes are focused on Natasha and Clint, who are fighting tooth and nail only a few yards away. There’s a knife involved and Natasha seems to have the upper hand but then Clint is deftly flipping the knife from one hand to another, grabbing her hair and forcing her head back. Bucky shoves his gun away and grabs his shield, slipping it onto his arm as he breaks into a run-

“Hey, pal!”

Still locked in his struggle with Natasha, all Clint can do his turn his head, and as he does Bucky swings the shield up and around. It catches Clint full in the face with a hefty thud, and he drops like a sack of potatoes onto the roof, knocked out cold.

“Good timing,” Natasha says breathlessly, limping around to Bucky and wrapping fingers around his elbow. “Did he get you?”

“Only a little,” Bucky shrugs. “What do we do with him now?”

Natasha responds by stepping away from him and quickly and efficiently stripping Clint of his weapons. She hands the bow to Bucky, and then quickly takes a step back as Clint stirs. Bucky holds his breath as Clint lifts his head dazedly, blinking hard in the sunlight. “Nat?” he manages, looking confused. He raises a shaky hand to wipe his nose; it comes away bloody and he stares down at his hand, bewildered.

“Oh thank god,” she says, and she drops to her knees beside him and cups his face in her hands. Bucky feels an utterly misplaced pang of jealousy run through him.

“You got him out, you got-” Clint struggles to say, pushing Nat’s hands away and sitting up. He holds his palm to his head and looks around; his gaze falls on Bucky and his mouth drops open comically.

“What the hell? Am I dead?”

Natasha drops her chin, fighting a relieved smile that looks very close to tears. “No, Clint, you’re not dead.”

“I just woke up to see Captain America staring at me. I’m either dead or high as fuck.”

“You are neither dead nor high,” Natasha says, taking a breath and regrouping. “Get up, you idiot. You’ve got some aliens to kill.”

Clint nods shakily, and Natasha pulls him to his feet. He staggers slightly but catches himself with a hand on Natasha’s shoulder. “So, is anyone going to explain Captain America?”

“He was frozen in the arctic for seventy years,” Natasha says, and takes Clint’s bow back from Bucky and hands it to him. “We found him, but unfortunately you got yourself captured right before the introductions were made.”

“Captured,” Clint says, still looking a little blindsided. Between the mind-control and the hefty wallop he’s taken from the shield, Bucky can’t really blame him. “Right. Okay, nice to meet you. No hard feelings about the shooting at you?”

“Well, if you have none about me knocking you out,” Bucky replies.

Clint laughs, but the sounds is strained and shaky. He looks around them at the ongoing battle and the destruction he can see, and Bucky can see that’s he’s wavering badly, that he’s realizing exactly what he’s done.

“Hey, Hawkeye,” he says swiftly, and reaches for him, holding onto his shoulder and shaking him a little. “Guilt afterwards. We need you to help sort this shit,” he says, and Clint blinks at him and then he’s nodding unsteadily.

“Yeah, okay,” he says and he pulls himself together with sheer force of will in a way that reminds Bucky oddly of himself. “What’re our odds?”

“Slim to none,” Bucky says grimly. “But we’re gonna give them hell regardless.”

Clint nods. “I guess a final dramatic gesture of putting an arrow through Loki’s eye socket might make me feel better.”

From the portal above them there’s a deafening roar, and they all look up to see another wave of soldiers pouring through, followed by two huge leviathans. They’re so big that the top of the skyscraper is thrown into shadow, and they can only watch helplessly as they drift towards street level, roars reverberating through the air and making the buildings tremble. 

“Captain, none of this will mean a damn thing if we don’t close the portal,” Natasha says.

“Guns won’t do shit,” Clint says. “It’s protected.”

“Maybe it’s not about guns,” Natasha says, and Clint’s eyes widen a fraction.

“I‘ve got an idea,” he says. “It might- I don’t know. Something he said.”

They all duck as a blast of laser energy hits the rooftop next to them, scattering concrete and debris. Bucky and Natasha return fire immediately, but then Clint is there, easily hitting the offending enemy with an arrow and sending it tumbling out of the sky.

“Pal, I’m glad you’re back on our side,” Bucky says as Clint picks off another enemy craft with what seems a minimal amount of effort.

“Me and you both,” Clint says. “Right, we gonna find a way downtown and join in with this crazy last-stand suicide mission or what?”

Bucky looks at Nat, a brief moment of pause and peace in the chaos around them. The breeze lifts her hair and she nods almost imperceptibly.

“Yeah, we are,” he says with a note of finality. “Let’s go.”

And Clint is immediately heading for the open access door that Natasha must have come up through. Natasha is moving to follow him, but Bucky is seized with impulse and he might be about to die again so he decides _fuck it._

Two strides and he’s close enough; he reaches out to grab her arm, pulls her around and then leans in and kisses her.

Her breath catches, but then her hands come up to hold onto his shoulders and she kisses him back.

“Oh man,” Clint’s voice complains in the background. “I leave you unattended for ten minutes and you hook up with Captain America?”

Nat pulls away, her eyes fixed on Bucky’s, steady and unwavering. “Well, Clint sounds back to normal,” she says, and then she presses another kiss to the corner of Bucky’s mouth. “Is this a goodbye kiss?”

“Maybe,” Bucky says, feeling winded in the best possible way.

“I kind of hope it isn’t,” Natasha says, and she’s kissing him again, slender arms wrapping around his neck as his hands find a home on her waist.

“Hey!” Clint shouts. “Aliens now, making out later!”

“The man has a point,” Bucky says. “I won’t die if you don’t,” he says to Natasha.

Her mouth quirks. “Deal,” she says, and lets him go. “Now let’s go.”

She turns away again, racing towards the stairwell just behind Clint. Bucky takes a deep breath and follows, thinking that if he does die trying to win this, at least he’s got that kiss to remember as he checks out.

 

* * *

 

And it’s over. The portal is destroyed, the tesseract safely in SHIELD’s possession. Loki is under armed guard with Thor’s hammer resting on his chest to make sure the fucker doesn’t escape before Thor takes him back to Asgard. The chitauri are dead, and New York is quiet and still, the last of the dust from the battle settling over the wreckage of the city. 

They did it. They won.

“Captain.”

Bucky blinks at the call of his name and then looks up away from the mangled remains of a city bus he’s been staring at without seeing. It’s Natasha, limping carefully through the rubble towards him. She’s covered in brick dust and blood and she’s so beautiful it hurts.

“We didn’t die then,” Bucky says, and she smiles and comes to stand close to him. He shifts over on the chunk of masonry he’s been sitting on, making space for her. She takes it, sitting down carefully next to him and hissing out a breath as she does.

“No, we didn’t,” she says. “Few of us came pretty close though.”

“Tony holding up okay?”

Natasha hums. “About as well as Clint.”

“That bad, huh?”

Natasha just shrugs. “He wants shwarma.”

“I thought he was _joking_ ,” Bucky says with a grimace. 

“I think with Stark, the trick is that he’s only joking when it’s serious,” she says. “He’s asking where you are. Clint desperately wants to buy you a beer too.”

“Just taking it all in,” Bucky says, breathing in and out and looking up at the sky, squinting in the sunlight. “Fortnight ago I crashed a plane thinking I was gonna die. This morning I jumped into this battle thinking I was gonna die. And I’m still here. And I have no idea what to do now."

“Well, I seem to remember you saying something about getting to know a girl,” Natasha says slowly, looking straight ahead over the street. 

“Yeah, that was on my maybe pile,” Bucky says. “I’m kind of really busy staring at that broken bus right now, the girl will have to wait.”

And Natasha’s mouth twists in her amused smirk, the faintest shadow of the expression Bucky has utterly fallen for. He watches as Natasha stands up and doesn’t object as she reaches for his helmet, unclipping the buckle under his chin and gently lifting it from his head. She runs her fingers through his hair, which is matted with sweat and probably sticking up every which way.

“The girl wants you to come and eat shwarma with the team that you are part of,” she says as he looks up at her, fingers tracing up along his hairline, pushing it up off his brow.

And Bucky thinks he can do that. It’s not a future, not yet. But for the next hour or so, he’s being invited to sit with his team. With friends. And he doesn’t have to think any further than that.

“But that bus isn’t going to stare at itself-” he begins, but stops with a grin as she rolls her eyes, setting his helmet down next to his hip and then reaching up to cup his cheeks with both hands.

“I’m going to have to get used to your terrible sense of humor, aren’t I?”

Bucky shrugs. Her thumbs stroke gently over his cheekbones. “Not like you’ve got anything better to do,” he says, and he’s still smiling when she leans down and kisses him. It’s electric thrills down his spine, hot warmth in the pit of his belly, a sense of awe and privilege, terrifying unknowns.

Yeah, he’s totally in love with the damn spy.

“Maybe,” he murmurs against her mouth, “the future doesn’t completely suck.”

Natasha gently presses her lips to his again. “It’s not the future now you’re in it, Captain.”

And Bucky smiles as she leans back, and he reaches up to tuck a lock of red hair behind her ear. The sun shines down on them, warm and content. Somewhere, Bucky thinks that maybe Steve approves.

“Yeah,” he says, and he finally means it this time. “Yeah, I know.”


End file.
